Beadle's New York Dime Library No. 218 — page 25: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

——_ —— CHAPTER LXI. pariti i -bifer i bed something of: ‘th THE a on — for it something of the dharactn of one—restored my equanimity. Holt was with the Mormon train, and of course Lilian also. Drawing comfort from this reflection, I was turn- ing to attend to my horse. The gallant creature had been sadly neglected of late, and needed my care. A huge Mexican si/la, that with its trappings half-cov- ered its body, would have sufficiently disguised him; but Ihad not much fear of his being recognized. Stebbins and Holt had both seen him—once only, and then under such circumstances that it was scarcely possible they could have noticed him. eee they might have remembered him readily enough. I had vo fear, however, and was about to remove the saddie, when an object presented itself to my eyes that interrupted my intention, causing me to remain fixed an femncbilas In the open ground, scarcely twenty paces from where I stood, was a form that fell ppon the eye like a beam of empyrean light in the midst of deepest darkness—a girl of olden roseate hue, with a cherelure of yellow hair fabging to her haunches in all its lustrous loxuri- ance! Scarcely twenty paces separated me from Lilian Holt; for need I say that it was Lilian herself? The path she was following would conduct her to the bank of the river about a hundred yards above where our tents had been pitched, and a like distance from the nearest of the wagons. Her object in going thither was evident. A tin water-can, hanging by its iron handle over her wrist, proclaimed her errand. On reaching the river she did not proceed to fill the vessel, but, placing it near the water’s edge, sat down beside it. The bank, slightly elevated above the stream, offered a sort of projecting bench. Upon this she had seated herself, in such an attitude that her limbs hung over, until one foot was immersed in the water. At this crisis an idea occurred to me that promised to aid me in obtaining the interview I longed for. “4 Arab had not yet been given to the grass. Near where Lilian was seated the herbage was luxuriant, more so than anywhere around. Upon it I could ree my steed, or hold him in hand while he should rowse. 1 lost not a minute in removing the saddle and ad- deme the halter, and scarcely another in approach- ng the spot where the young girl was seated, | drew near, however, with due circumspection, fear- ful that by a too brusque approach I might hasten her departure. -I gave my horse to the grass, now and then guiding him with a pull upon the halter, which I still held in my hand. The young girl saw that 1 was gradually nearing her, and looked twice or three times toward me, not with any air of alarm. Rather of interest, I thought; but this may~have been only afancy. My horse appeared to share her attention—indeed, more than share it: since she fixed her eyes upon him frequently and looked longer at himeach time. Was it the noble form that was attracting her admiration? Or was there some- thing that cailed up a recollection? She might re- member the horse. CHAPTER LXIL. THE LETTER. APPARENTLY she did not, for soon she went back to the rome Her body was bent to one side by the weight of the water-can; while her long golden hair, falling in confusion over the straining arm, almost swept the sward at herfeet. The toilsome attitude only displayed in greater perfection the splendid development of that form, which death alone could now hinder me from cailing my own. I had taken from my pocket a scrap of paper, and penciled upon it three simple words. a knew the paper on which I was writing: it was the half-leaf of a letter well remembered. e letter itself was not there; it was within the folds of my pocket-book; but there was writing on the fly-leaf, and on both faces of it. On one side were those cherished verses, whose sweet, simple strain, still vibrating upon the ehords of my heart, I cannot help repeating: ‘I think of thee when Morning springs Frog sleep with plumage bathed in dew, And like a young bird lifts her wings Of gladness ou the welkin blue. And when at noon the breath of love O’er flower and stream is wandering free, And sent in music from the grove— I think of thee—I think of thee! “I think of thee when soft and wide _ The Evening spreads her robe of light, And like a young and timid bride Sits blushing in the arms of Night. And when the moon’s sweet crescent springs In light or heaven's deep, waveless sea, d stars are forth like blessed things— I think of thee—I think of thee! ‘* Oh, sir! it is very, very true! Ido think of you, and I am sure I shall do so as long as I live! “Trsjan Hout.” “ On the reverse side of the page Thad penned, or rather penciled a response. Not then, but in an idle hour by the way, with the presentiment that it might some time reach the hands of her for whom it was intended. In those handsI was now deter- mined to place it, leaving the issue to the cipher itself. The answer ran thus: ‘“7O LILIAN. “As music sweet, thy gentle lay th found an echo in my heart; At morn, at eve, by night, b) day, "Tis never from my thoughts apart; J hear the strain in every breeze That blows o'er flower, leaf, and tree; Low murmuring, the birds and bees All seem to ging —_j{ think of thee! «+ Perhaps of Me no mo ‘thought Lingers Within th ae : blest; d 4 om For time 44 &68enee Hoth are fraught With danger Yo the lover's rest? Oh, Lilian! if thy gentiost breath Should whis " t that sad truth to me, My heart Wore atin be cold in death— “Phough dying, stil “twonta think of thee. PWARD WanrriELD, a Hunter. * The Indian . NR The Wild Huntress. The words at the moment added were those ap- pended to my own name—which I had introduced to aid in the recognition. However es might .be the scheme for eee myse own, I had no time to conceive any other. Even a word might betray me. Under this apprehension, I resolved to remain silent, and watch forthe occasion when I might effect the secret conveyance of the paver, As the young girl drew near I stepped toward her, pointing to my lips and making sign that I wished to drink. The action did not alarm ber. On the contrary, she stopped, and smiling kindly on the — savage, offered the can, raising it - before her. I took the vessel in my hands, holding the little billet conspicuous between my stained fingers. Conspicuous only to her, for from all other eyes the can concealed it, even from those of the bizarre duenna, who had faced round and was still standing near. Not a word escaped me, as I pretended to drink, I only nodded toward the paper as I raised the vessel to y lips. Ah! that weird instinct of a woman’s heart—a woman who loves! How pleasant to watch its subtle play, when we know that itis exerted in our favor! I saw not the action, nor yet the emotion that may have been depicted on that radiant face. My eyes were averted. I dared not trust them to wa the effect. I only knew that the can was taken from my hands, the paper along with it; and like a dream the fair water-carrier from be- fore me, leaving me alone upon the spot! CHAPTER LXOI. A SISTER’S APPEAL. I HASTENED to inform Marian of what had q having returned to the tents, without giving any sign of the excitement that was stirring within my breast. Why not to-night? Why not at once—with- in the hour? These were my reflections, put inter- rogatively, as I hurried over the ground. The hun- tress still remained within her tent: but, enjoying the fraternal privilege, I could enter; and, stooping, I passed under the covering of skins. “You have seen sister Lilian!’’ she said, affirma- tively, as I entered. ‘* And spoken with her?” ‘‘No; | dared not trust myself to speak; but I have given her a token of recognition.’ “In writing? I saw you. - She knows, then, that you are here?” ‘* By this time she should—that is, if she has found an opportunity to look at the paper.”’ ‘*She will find that, Idare say. Oh, she is beauti- ful--very beautiful. I do not wonder, sir, that you love her. Were I a man— Knows she that I, too, am here?” ‘*Not yet. I feared to tell her, even in writing, I feared that in the sudden transport of joy which such a discovery would produce she might proclaim it to your father—perhaps to him.” “You are right—there might have been a risk of that. She must not know that I am here till we can caution her against declaring it. How do you pro- pose to act?” “I have come to take counsel from you. could only make known to her that you are present she might find an opportunity of stealing forth, and in the dariness all the rest could be accomplished. Even to-night—why not this very night?” ‘Why not?’ echoed the huntress, catching eager- ly at the idea. “The sooner the better. But how = Ito see her? Should I enter their camp? Per- a ; iainis®® ote you write to her, I—"’ ** Would, stranger? say could. Writing is not one of my accomplishments. My father cared little to teach me; my mother still less—she cared not at all. Alas! poor ignorant me! I cannot even write my own name!” “It matters not; dictate what you would say to her. Ihave here paper and pencil, and shall write for you. If she has read the other, she will be on the lookout, and no doubt we may find an opportu- bity of giving a note to her.” “And she of reading it, no doubt. Yes, it does seem the best course we can pursue—the surest and safest. Surely Lilian has not forgottenme? Surely she will follow the advice of a sister who dearly loves her?” Drawing out my pencil, and tearing a leaf from the memorandum-book, I stood reacy to act as amanuensis. The intelligent though unlettered maiden commenced the dictation: “ BeLoven Sister:—A friend writes for -me—one whom you know. It is Marian who speaks—your own sister Marian—still living and well. I am here with others—in the disguise of Indians—those you have seen. We are here on your account alone. We have come to save you from a darger—oh, sister! a dreadful danger, which your innocent heart can- not have dreamed of |’ I was not so certain of this. The shade I had ob- served upon Lilian’s countenance—produced by the taunting speeches of the mulatta—had convinced If we _ me that the young girl was not without some pre- | sentiment of her | terrupt her. peril, however vaguely outlined. So much the better for our purpose; and, as I had already declared this belief to Marian, I did not iv- She continued: “When you have read this, do not show it to any one. Do not make known its contents even to—”’ The maiden paused for a moment. Filial affec- tion, too cruelly crushed, was causing ker voice to falter. Tremblingly and low muttered came the words: “Our father! — Dear Lil!” proceeded she in a firmer tone, “‘ you know how dearly Lloved you? I love you still the same. You know I would have risked my life to save yours. I now risk that and more—ah! far more, if. could tell you; but some time you shall know all. And Pots dear Lil! your danger is even greater than. of life—for it is the danger of dishonor! Hear me, then, beloved sister, 4nd do not,refuse to follow my advice! When it is rk—and to-night if possible—steal out from the camp. Separate yourself from the vile people who Surround you--separate yourself—oh sister! it is hard to say the word—from him, our father—him who shoul have been our protector, but who, I fear— | | | | 25 Alas! I cannot speak the thought. To-night, dear —_—- Lil! if. ible, to-night! To-morrow it may be too late, disguise may be discovered, and al] our plans frustrated. To-night—to-night! Fear not! — friend awaits you—as also your old favorite, ‘rank Wingrove, with other brave companions. Your sister will receive you with open arms.” ** MARIAN.” Our next anxiety was, as to how the note might be delivered. Time was too valuable to be wasted. Already had the sun sunk to rest over the grand desert of the Colorado; and the somber shadows of the Sierra San Juan were projected far into the plain —almost to the edge of the encampment. In these latitudes, the soft eve lingers but a few minutes; and night was already spreading her russet mantle over the earth. The white tilts of the wagons gleamed paler through the gray light: and the red glare of the camp- fires, burning within the corral, now arose upon the canvas—disputing the power to illuminate it, with the last touches of the twilight. Another minute—scarcely another minute—and the day would be done. *‘Come!” I said to my companion, “‘we may go together. The guide has proclaimed us sister and brether—prophetic words, [ hope. Belie in that relationship, these people will not see anyt ex- traordinary in our ga stroll together. Outside the camp, we may find the opportunity we are in search of?” Marian offered no objection; and, issuing together from the tent, we proceeded in the direction of the corraled wagons. CHAPTER LXIV, A CARAVAN BALL, As if to favor our design, the night descended dusk as the wing of a vulture. . It was, moreover, the hour of most interest in the daily routine of a traveling-train: when forms cluster around the bivouac fire, and bright faces Shine cheer- fully in the blaze; when the song succeeds the sup- per, the tale is told, and the merry laugh rings on the air; when the pipe sends up its aromatic wreaths of blue curling smcke; and sturdy limbs, already rested from the toils of the day, feel an impulse to spring upward on the “light fantastic toe.” On that eve, euch an impulse had inspired the limbs of the Mormon emigrants. Seareely had the debris of the supper been re- moved ere a space was cleared midway between the blazing fires; music swelled upon the air— he sounds of fiddle, horn and clarionet—and half a score of couples, setting themselves en quad7il/e, commenced treading time to the tune. Sufficiently bizcrrve was the exhibition—a dance of the true *‘ broad-horn” breed; but we had no thought of criticising an en- tertainment so opportune to our purpose. The swelling sound of the instruments drowning low conversation—the confusion of many volces—the at- traction of the saltatory performance—were all cir- cumstances that had suddenly and unexpectedly arisen in our favor. My companion and I had no longer a fear that our movements would be noted. Our eyes, wandering over the different figures seon became fixed upon two, They were men, an seated near each other, and some paces apart from the crowd of dancers. They were Holt and Stebbins. Both were by the side of a large fire, that threw its red light in full glare over them—so that not onl their figures, but even the expression upon th features we could distinctly trace. The squatter pipe in mouth, and with head drooping down almos to his knees, looked grimly into the fire. He was paying no attention to what was passing around him. His thoughts were not there. Stebbins, on the other hand, appeared oe to watch the dancers. He was dressed with a degree of adorn- ment, and exhibited a certain pat attitude as if master of the sports and ceremo ! Men and women went and came, as if paying court to him, and each was kept fora moment in courtl raciously dismissed, with the Indicrous etiquet of mock ceremonial. I looked among the dancers--scrutinizing each face as it came round to thelight. There were girls and women— some of all But Lilian? I was disappointed in not seeing her—a disappointment that gratified me. Where was she? Among the spectators? 1 made a burried examination of the circle. There were faces fair and young—white teeth and rose-hued cheeks—but not hers. e was not among them! I turned to her sister to make a conjectural inquiry. I saw that the eyes of Marian were fixed upon her father. She was re ing him with a singular expression. I could fancy that some strange reflection was passing through her mind— some wild emction swelling within her bosom, Neb from interrupting the current of her thoughts. Up to this time the wagon beside which we stood had been darkinside. Suddenly, and as if by magic, a light flashed within, gleaming through the trans- lucent canvas. A candle bad been lighted under the tilt, and now eontinued to burn steadily. I could not resist the temptation to look under the canvas. Perhaps a presentiment guided me? It needed no disarrangement of the cover. Ihad only to step a pace to one side and opposite the curtain in the rear of the vehicle. The slight rude hanging had been negligently closed. An interstice left open between the two flaps permitted a full view of the interior. A number of large boxes and articles of household use filled up the bed of the wagon. Over these had been thrown some coarse garments and pieces of hed-clothing—blankets, ccunterpanes, and a bolster or two. Nearthe forward end a chest of large di- mensions stood higher than the rest, and upon the lid of this a piece of tallow-candle was burning in the neck of an old bottle. Between the fiame ot the candie and my eyes a ficure intervened, shadowing the rearward part of the wagon. j It was a female figure; and dim as was the light, I could trace the outlines of a lovely silkouctie, that could be no other than Lilian Helt. A slight movement of the head brought the gleam of golden haireunder the flickering flame, and the features were seen en provle. They were hers. It was Lilian who occupied the wagon. She was alone, though im front of the vehicle I could see forms not distant from where she sat. Young men were loitering there. Ardent glances were d COMMU converse, and then JOO S) (E(@) eS A Ia cee a 2 SAY ee ee ee . eee eee Se oe , .